


The Only Thing Worse Than Spotting A Spider

by glitteringvoid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baking, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 21:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteringvoid/pseuds/glitteringvoid
Summary: “There was a spider here, climbing on the wall, and now it’sgone.” Draco is looking at him now, raising an eyebrow at him as if Ron is supposed to fix this.What happens when both of them are terrified of spiders.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 125





	The Only Thing Worse Than Spotting A Spider

**Author's Note:**

> This is nothing but a silly little idea about how lost these two would be (how lost _I_ constantly am) when no one is there to handle scary spiders. Because the only thing worse than spotting a spider, is when the spider is suddenly gone. 
> 
> Thank you at my wonderful beta-reader randoyoyo!

“And bring that lovely man of yours with you next time, you hear me? I get terribly lonely with no visitors all day.” Ron snorts — Ethel is many things, but she is most certainly _not_ lonely. Ethel has a family big enough to rival Ron’s own, everyone coming by regularly, carrying food and bringing stories to entertain the old lady. She is sweet, a little too forward sometimes maybe, but nobody can stay angry at her for long. She is the kind of neighbour who invites you to tea, who sees everything and gives you knowing smirks when you pass her in the hallway. Ethel had realised Draco moved in with him way before Ron did, for example — a fact they both still tease him mercilessly over. 

“As if I could keep him away if I tried. You know he is already planning which cake we should bring next time.” Ethel cackles at that, her laugh reverberating in the corridor and up the stairs, filling Ron with warmth. He truly didn’t expect to make such good friends when he moved out, and into a muggle area too! But now, standing here with Ethel after being dragged in for a quick cup of tea on his way up to his and Draco’s flat, Ron can’t imagine anything else. 

“Chocolate dear, it’s my favourite.” Ron can already picture Draco, only his curls showing over the heavy books with complicated recipes, scoffing at the mere mention of _something as plebeian as chocolate cake_. He would whip out something spectacular, fancy and elegant, proudly present it and get awed compliments — but never as good as chocolate cake. 

If he’s honest, Ron never understood Draco’s problem with chocolate, why he doesn’t just bake the cake already. He himself loves it, and Draco has a sweet tooth — he loves everything with chocolate. And yet Draco stubbornly refuses, pulling on his apron and setting to work. It’s endearing, and Ron loves watching him, the concentrated little frown, the graceful movements through the kitchen, the faint layer of flour settling on him and giving him a ghostly look, the inevitable dough tasting. 

“He knows that, Ethel.” Ron presses a kiss on her cheek, salutes her and dashes up to meet his boyfriend before she can keep him any longer. All this talk of cakes made him hungry. Or maybe it’s the anticipation, the giddy excitement. 

Today is his and Draco’s one-year anniversary. No one thought they would make it this long. Hell, _Ron_ didn’t think they would make it this long. When he saw Draco working in the Bakery, following Harry around who insisted he was up to something — poisoning cakes, money laundering, potion smuggling — they quickly became regulars, Ron eating Draco’s delicious cakes and Harry watching him suspiciously. 

Ron doesn’t remember how Harry talked him into dating Draco to find out more, to gain his trust and destroy the evil scheme from behind enemy lines. He _does_ remember the gobsmacked expression on his face when Ron told him he wasn’t pretending anymore, hadn’t been for a long time and won’t ever be again. It took a lot of groveling for Draco to forgive him his less than pure intentions at the beginning, but Ron wouldn’t change a thing, not if it meant giving up what they built for themselves. 

To celebrate, and spite all those who told them they wouldn’t last a month, Draco chose a fancy dish Ron can’t even pronounce to be prepared by themselves. And with that he meant of course Ron would do the cooking, while he himself does everything in his power to distract him. That is how it always goes when they cook, Draco’s skills limited to an astounding palette of soup — the talent for potions definitely showing — and screwing up the meals Ron would cook. He would season them all wrong, use the worst possible ingredients, nibble on Ron’s neck just so. They ended up with far too many burned meals, ordering take away instead. 

This meal would probably be no different. The thought that Draco would restrain himself so they could eat Ron’s first and most likely barely passable attempt at an incredible complicated meal is ludicrous. If Draco wanted a fancy meal, he would have dragged him to a restaurant. Ron can live very well without that though, without being stuffed in in formal dress robes, without being observed by others and forced to behave all stiff and appropriate. He would do it for Draco, though he didn’t want to do it as often as Ron feared, thank Merlin. 

Whistling some tune that is stuck in his head through frequent repetitions in the radio, Ron unlocks the door. “Love, I’m home.” 

He waits for the shouted reminder _Don’t call me that, sweetheart_ , the ritual a mockery of surgery-sweet pet names they themselves would never admit to using. He frowns when it doesn’t come, closing the door and placing the groceries on the floor, out of the way. He slips out of his shoes, lines them up carefully — Draco wouldn’t shut up about it for a month if he didn’t — and steps on socked and thus silent feet further into the flat. 

It’s silent, eerily so, tension in the air, and Ron is gripping his wand, whole body ready to attack, to deflect and defend. Dread pools in Ron’s gut, spreading heavily through his veins, creeping over his skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He is wound up tight, ready — _needing_ — to burst. 

“Draco?” Keeping the waver, the uncertainty, the fear out his voice is harder than expected, the hold on his wand tightening subconsciously. Ron didn’t expect an answer, and when he hears Draco call from the kitchen he quickly moves towards him, not letting up his guarding but hastening his steps, wanting to help him, to free him — whatever he needs. 

The picture that greets him in the kitchen is … not what Ron was expecting. Draco seems unharmed, a little ruffled but not hurt or injured. That’s good. It would be great, but he is also standing on a chair, clutching his arms around himself and looking frightened, eyes frantically searching. 

The surge of relief that washed through Ron at seeing Draco not in a puddle of his own blood is quickly crashed in the realisation of just how _not alright_ Draco actually is. Taking measured steps towards him, hands raised to show he doesn’t mean harm, Ron moves farther into the kitchen. Draco eyes flit to him but don’t stay, searching the walls. Ron looks around himself, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. 

There is their counter, things already set up for Ron to start cooking; there is the fridge, with their many photographs of themselves, of friends and family; there is their table, Draco standing on one of the chairs. That is not all that unusual, now that he thinks about it: Draco is a drama queen. After having assured himself everything is fine, Ron is pretty confident Draco is exaggerating. 

Ron loves these moments, when he can come in and save him, sweep him of his feet like a chivalrous knight rescuing a damsel in distress. Draco, however, did not appreciate the comparison and Ron slept on the couch for a week after foolishly mentioning it to him. 

“Where is the monster?” He expected Draco to laugh, indulge him in the game and describe a fearsome beast hiding under their table maybe, glare at him and threaten him for daring to make fun of him. 

Draco does none of these things, he keeps looking around, searching. 

“You think I would be standing here if I knew?” Ron frowns at him, that’s neither here nor there. But at least Draco doesn’t sound scared, more impatient and annoyed than anything else. 

“Okay what is going on here?”

“There was a spider here, climbing on the wall, and now it’s _gone_.” Draco is looking at him now, raising an eyebrow at him as if Ron is supposed to fix this. 

But Ron can’t move, the words hitting him over the head and paralysing him. He can _feel_ them, the spiders, crawling on his skin, legs moving quick and light, ghosting touches creeping up his body and leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

Without thinking, trying to escape the sensation, the threat, Ron jumps up onto the chair, clinging to Draco for dear life. 

“Let go of me!” Ignoring his protest, Ron looks around, frantically searching, mind running wild with images of spiders emerging from every crack, every corner, coming down the walls and covering every surface. 

“Ronald, look at me.” His head is being turned around, slim hands holding him and stroking his face, Draco looking at him with wide grey eyes, concerned. “Now, that is better isn’t it?” 

That really _is_ better, yes. Ron can feel himself calming down, the sensation of hairy legs on his back lifting and replaced with the soft touch on his face, Draco taking up his senses. 

“There you are, better now?” Ron nods mutely, embarrassment coming over him and making him blush. The worried frown on Draco’s face disappears, replaced with a smirk that rings every alarm bell in Ron’s head. This particular smirk seldom means good for him. 

“What kind of Gryffindor are you, fleeing from a little spider?” Against all expectations, they jab doesn’t hurt, doesn’t remind him of his failure in bravery, but instead calms him down further, even makes him laugh. He shoves at Draco in retaliation; wouldn’t do to let him think he can get away with that kind of thing. 

Draco sways precariously, letting out a most undignified squeak that he would deny later, not expecting the shove. Ron abruptly remembers they are _standing on a chair_ , that place is limited right now. Not wanting Draco to fall on the floor — he would never let him forget about that, Ron can already hear him complain: that one time Ron tried to feed him to a spider and hoped to flee while it was distracted, gorging on poor, helpless Draco. Ron quickly grabs him, pulling him back in. 

“What kind of _Slytherin_ are you, not having come up with an ingenious plan to get us out of here?” Draco glares at him, cross over his near fall, blushing and trying very hard to appear unaffected. It is, despite their circumstances, rather lovely. 

“The plan was to make _you_ deal with it, obviously. Don’t blame _me_ for neglecting _your_ duties.” Draco is adorable when he is pouting, not that he takes favourable to being told. Draco has many wonderful traits he doesn’t like pointed out; Ron learnt to appreciate them silently. 

“My _duty_ , is it?” 

“Of course, why else would I keep you around?” Ron can think of quite many reasons why Draco is _keeping him around;_ like the fact that he is providing food, that Draco makes him carry around the heavy stuff when needed, that he makes him laugh every day. 

None of these are worth bringing up now, not when indulging Draco in his antics always proved to be entertaining. 

“Yeah? Let me deal with this then.” Casting another look through the room, searching for the spider again and not finding anything, Ron nods to himself. He can do this, he is a _Gryffindor_ , for Godric’s sake! 

Determined he steps down from the chair, pulling a startled Draco down with him and carrying him out of the infested kitchen as quickly as possible. It’s neither as easy nor as heroic as expected, Draco struggling in his hold, testing his balance and complaining loudly. 

Ron ignores him, taking long steps to bring them into safety. 

He only stops once they are in the living room, far away from the kitchen and with the floo close should further escaping be needed. 

“Fine, you are a true Gryffindor, foolish and brash and constantly needing to prove your valour. Will you set me down now?” Ron doesn’t want to, now that Draco finally stilled and holds on to him instead, sitting him back down is the last thing he wants to do. 

Draco, clever as he is, realises that too. “No! I know this look, there is _no way_ I’m kissing you while our house is —” 

He doesn’t continue, instead gesticulating wildly and grimacing in the direction of their kitchen. 

Right. The spider. 

Ron certainly doesn’t want to go back in, and he knows that letting Draco deal with it would entail the entire house being meticulously cleaned by the exterminators. Which is a totally unnecessary and overly dramatic path of action. All they need is someone to go in there, catch the darn thing and release it in some garden far away from here. Ron still remembers the lecture Harry held about not killing — _Harry_! 

That is the solution! Harry could deal with the spider while he and Draco drink a nice cup of tea to recover from the shock, and as thanks he will invite Harry to stay for dinner sometime. Watching Harry and Draco bicker and pretend not to like each other is hilarious and it has been way too long since Ron got the chance. 

“No worries love, I have a plan.” Draco raises an eyebrow at that and opens his mouth to argue, but Ron just drops a quick kiss on his nose, distracting him, and grabs the floo powder. 

Ron won’t allow their anniversary to be spoilt by something trifling as this. They both dealt with worse, fate would have to try harder if it wants to ruin their happiness.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, kudos and comments are always appreciated!  
> If you liked this fic, you can [reblog it on Tumblr](https://glitteringvoids.tumblr.com/post/189922013348/the-only-thing-worse-than-spotting-a-spider)


End file.
